


A New Season

by Nickidemus



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the war behind them, they can afford to be a little frivolous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Season

“Is this how a Shieldmaiden of Rohan passes her time?”

Eowyn looked up from the petals she was plucking round the thick disk of a flower she’d picked. She glowered playfully at Faramir, narrowing her eyes when his smile did not diminish even a little.

“On occasion,” she answered loftily. Then with emphasis, “in happier times.”

“Happier,” Faramir noted with a nod. “That is a word I am glad to hear, particularly from your lips.”

She smiled modestly, even now so charmed to hear him say such things. “It is a true enough word to use,” she replied, looking out over the green land, the growth that had retaken the land with the threat leaving them. Some of the enemy still remained, but they were being made short work of. The world was lush again, and that was evidence enough that it was over.

“Sit by me,” she said, looking to him again.

“I am a Steward of Gondor,” he replied, imitating her lofty tone from moments before. “I am not to be found in a field of flowers, sitting idle.”

Eowyn twisted her mouth as she fought a smile and patted the ground at her left hip.

“Yet my lady insists, and even a steward must answer to his lady.” He sat beside her and smiled when she pressed into his shoulder, her head resting there as she looked across the land with him.

“This is what you so wanted,” she murmured. “Gondor’s beauty returned, her memory held strong, and her people strong with it. The war over and life once more what we cherish above death. It has happened, my love.”

Faramir tucked a hand under her chin and moved her to face him. “I wanted more for the shadow to leave your eyes,” he whispered. “And it has.” His thumb brushed across her cheek. “There is no longer the promise of rain in them. I see only this far, green place reflected there now. To hear you speak of joy, Eowyn, and to call me love…”

He put her hand against his chest, and his heart could be felt even through the layers and leather.

The yellow and pink petals she had plucked and torn fell from the bowl she’d made of her skirts as she shifted toward him for a kiss. One hand balanced her as the other went to his hair and tangled there, her lips toying softly with his. She felt his hands slide down her sides and to her hips, and she murmured a pleased sound at this. Then brazenly she drew her skirts up and straddled his lap. She smiled down into his face, reading his expression and the gentle anticipation he wore so well.

One thing she knew and could do with skill was don armor, and the removal of it was even swifter. She was quick to find the places where his leathers buckled and fastened and do away with them, enough so that she could feel him growing full and ready in her hand. He gasped and drew her against his chest, where his clothes had been shifted aside and stripped, and even in his forcefulness, his kisses were tender against her throat and the swell of her breast. His poet’s heart, his thoughtful mind, made him gentle even in this heated moment.

She joined them together, drawing her hips down low over his and gasping when he entered. Another thing she could do well, as one who’d spent her entire life with horses, was ride. She rose and fell over him, and she heard him murmuring to her such beautiful things as only he could. He was strong with gifts she could only marvel at, and his tongue, his beautiful heart, was one of these. It left her feeling as desperate for him now as always.

He was no less a warrior for his tender ways, she knew, and he showed her then as he followed the rhythm she’d begun and left her reeling. When he felt her grip him so sweetly, her cries wept in his ear and only for him, he let his end take him. He cradled her against him, lying back in the green field, their field he thought of it now, and watched her hair spread in a gold fan along the ground.

“You’re still an incredible swordsman,” she told him.

He laughed softly at this. “And you make a wonderful scabbard, my lady.”

“Such a wise man to be a fool,” she giggled at him.

“Such is the folly of spring,” he replied, nuzzling his face against hers.


End file.
